Drinking with a Space Wolf
by CorvusAlbus
Summary: Space Wolf Volund Thundertooth, who serves the Deathwatch and is about to return to his chapter, invites two of his brothers to share a last drink of Mjod, before his departure. They talk throughout the night about various subjects, eventually also about their homeworlds. When Cyrus later returns to his chamber however, he receives news of the Exterminatus of Cyrene…


**Drinking with a Space Wolf**

If an Astartes' life was considered demanding, the service in the Deathwatch managed to step up the standards of a normal chapter's daily routine even more. And it needed to. The chamber militant of the Ordo Xenos consisted of Space Marines hailing from different chapters, and though all of them were experienced warriors, veterans of decades and even centuries, having them work together as a unit was the real challenge, and a key goal in training.

The many ancient rivalries often created tension between brothers and the long days were meant to forge them together, give them the mind-set they needed to survive, and accomplish any mission they were given. Infightings within a Kill-team often had deadly consequences, and were not tolerated.

But of course there were always those, who'd never truly cared for differences and feuds in the first place, and after the many years brothers parted as friends once they returned to their individual chapters.

Volund Thundertooth was a Rune Priest of the Space Wolves, who had been seconded to the Deathwatch a long time ago. For most of his years serving the Long Watch, he had been leading one of the Kill-teams, Schiavona, only occasionally having relieved his command to an Inquisitor for single missions. But the time for him to return to his chapter had finally come. More than two centuries had he spent away from his fellow wolves; long enough.

The Rune Priest smiled as his thoughts turned to his homeworld Fenris; it would be good to see the Fang again, Aett as they also called it, along with the other icy mountains of Asaheim. How he missed to sit in the halls of his chapter and listen to the songs of past victories and heroic deeds. And the cheering as mugs filled with Mjod were raised high in celebration.

Tomorrow his journey home would begin. Volund had already said his goodbyes to the Kill-team he had led these past centuries, more formal than he would have liked, but with his closest friends he wished to share one last drink. Frankly he hadn't expected it to be so difficult to leave them again. He had known this day would come, but regardless of what came after Deathwatch, those he's fought alongside with here would likely never cross his path again. And Volund had come to value most of them as valiant brothers, brothers he had led into battle against countless horrors in the darkest corners of this galaxy, and trusted with his life. Allfather watch over them.

He waited in the small mess hall, one of the few places they could sit and drink, as the Space Wolf had reserved the last of this Mjod for this occasion. Hardly enough for one Astartes in the eyes of a Space Wolf, let alone three, but they would make the best of it. During the Long Watch Volund had already occasionally shared some of the Fenrisian Ale, though not all his Deathwatch brothers had always participated. Most of them weren't into drinking recreationally or even for celebration. Frankly that probably was the only reason there was still something left for tonight.

The potent concoction was one of the very few beverages capable of intoxicating an Astartes, in part thanks to a natural toxin found in some Fenrisian plants, though large amounts were still required. The Space Wolves were truly fond of this beverage, not only consuming it during boisterous feasts, but quite often in competitions in order to determine who could drink the most before passing out. It was a bit of a shame that something like that had never happened here. There certainly had been victories warranting celebration.

Nadim of the Salamanders arrived first, his armour exchanged for a simply pair of pants and a chiton, both in plain black, the colour of the Deathwatch, as opposed to Volund, who was already in the pale blue-grey of his chapter. The younger marine had the distinctive obsidian skin and red eyes of his chapter, the result of a unique mutation after receiving the holy gene-seed, though additionally there were cupper stubble covering his chin and jaws.

Grinning they grasped each other's arm. "I'm glad you could come." Volund greeted him warmly, the other hand on his brother's shoulder; it would have been unfortunate if something like training had coincided. It gladdened him to have this night.

"I wouldn't miss it, brother." The Salamander replied in kind with a broad smile. "Can't have you leave without a proper farewell."

Volund laughed. "Then you should have seen the feast we had in the Fang just before my departure. Even by the time I left some of my brothers weren't quite back on their feet again."

"They must have been truly exhilarated to see you go." Another, deeper voice suddenly joined in. "And they say I have talent for antagonizing others."

"Perhaps that is why we get along so well, Cyrus." Volund greeted the Blood Raven, who had just entered the hall, still grinning, his sharp canines proudly presented.

Cyrus was dressed the same as Nadim, though on his pale skin the few round ports along his arms that were part of the neural network created by the implantation of the Black Carapace along an Astartes' torso and back, were far more noticeable. Most of his shoulder-long, dark blonde hair was swept to the right and currently even he was smiling, if only very subtly, easy to miss.

The Rune Priest clapped him on the shoulder, when he stopped next to them. "Now then, perhaps for tonight you can set aside that grim demeanour of yours and simply enjoy this evening."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Do not hold your breath, brother."

"Ha, to cheer him up you will need more than what little is left of your precious Mjod, Volund." Nadim told the Priest with a laugh.

"I fear much the same, but it will not hurt to try." Volund replied, never losing his grin.

Usually Space Wolves and Blood Ravens were known to be rivals, never quite getting along. But Volund was of a calmer nature than most of his brothers, a scholar and psyker, the latter being something the Wolves of Fenris had always looked upon with suspicion. In contrast the Blood Ravens were a chapter with uncommonly many psychically 'gifted', and this one had a too pragmatic mentality to mind some feud that would only interfere with their tasks.

Cyrus had joined the Deathwatch around the same time as Volund, making them the last original members of Kill-Team Schiavona. The Blood Raven had often been a man of few words, but thanks to his duties as a scout sergeant, he'd possessed valuable traits for the new team. He knew how to mould a team with men from different cultural backgrounds and societies, see their strength and flaws. And how to use a small, independent squad to devastating effect. While he had never contested with the Space Wolf over the leadership position, he had often given advice, much of which Volund had taken. In fact he'd welcomed Cyrus' outspokenness; Space Wolves themselves were not exactly known to mince their words. Soon their discussions had expanded to areas other than combat, the beginning of their unexpected friendship.

Their fellow brothers had been very accepting of the Blood Raven's tactics as well, which often relied on swift and precise attacks. Especially Maccius, who'd found many of them to be alike to those utilized by his own chapter, the Raven Guard, had approved of them and gladly added his input. The exception had been Quintus, but the Red Scorpion resented all he deemed impure, like the Salamanders with their very visible mutation, the Wolves for their culture and refusal to accept the Codex Astartes. Among all his brothers, only Quintus had managed to truly earn Volund's ire and that more than once. He would miss many things, but not the Scorpion.

Nadim in many respects was the very opposite of Quintus. As one of the youngest members of the Deathwatch, he had exhibited great enthusiasm for his new duties. Eagerly he had listened to his more experienced brothers and learned what he could, while proving himself in battle time and time again, ever calm under fire, even humorous at times. Additionally as Salamanders learned the art of blacksmithing, he'd been able to maintain and even improve their gear, with skill almost equal to the specialized Techmarines. Volund had always welcomed the younger Marine's company, gladly calling him a valued battle-brother and friend.

The three Astartes sat down at one of the tables on the ice cold benches. Not that any of them took particular notices; even their beds offered only as much comfort as a slab of rock. Cyrus had once mentioned that during his travels with a Rogue Trader, while he'd been serving as a lone Kill-Marine, he'd taken to sleeping on the floor, unaccustomed to comforts such as a mattress. Naturally none of them were bothered by the dim light or the spare, metal furnishing of the mess hall either.

Volund had already acquired three large mugs, filling them as best he could, and the potent scent of alcohol soon lingered in the relatively small mess-hall. It was underlined by a bitter note, proof of the toxicity some ingredients used for creating Mjod possessed; but they were the key components after all.

Even the taste was telling. The sweetness of ale was balanced by those certain Fenrisian plants serving as bittering agents. With each slug of alcohol warmth spread through body and limb, though it would still take more until other effects could be felt, or even noticed. If only he had more. Volund quickly disregarded the thought again. He should be grateful that he'd received a bit of replenishment from home at all. A perk of working so closely with far travelling Inquisitors and Rogue Traders.

As the night progressed the three spoke of past missions, their conversation focusing mostly on those they had completed without losing a fellow brother, or training sessions. The Watch Fortress was after all also a prison and repository for all manner of alien beasts, and between mission the Astartes were pitted against them, alone or in small teams, in vast labyrinths or even complete darkness, to hone their skills.

Of course the Astartes also trained with each other, sharing techniques, fighting styles or tactics with their new brothers. During the years Maccius of the Raven Guard had even taught Cyrus a few things about wraith-slipping, at least that much the others had concluded. Then again it had been difficult to tell with hundreds of silent duels in utter darkness, which had tended to end with a single, well placed blow. Usually it had been Cyrus, who had reappeared with a knife wound or such, until eventually they had found themselves equally matched. It was at that point that their fellow brothers had started making wagers, though still in the Raven Guard's favour. They weren't betting anything material naturally, in part because few possessed more than the equipment they carried into battle, but it had proved nonetheless entertaining.

"And when Tullius had the xeno in a stranglehold. I still can't believe you and Seneca just started discussing what it could be." Nadim chuckled, though took only a sip afterwards, as his mug was almost empty at this point, and he was well aware that there wouldn't be any refills.

The Space Wolf shrugged. "Well we had never seen its ilk before, or since fortunately. We were curious to see more of its behaviour."

Cyrus frowned, though with a hint of an amused smile. "I don't recall Tullius being too pleased about your sudden dabble in ethology."

"Besides, all it tried was to bite his head off." Granted the beast had been missing a limb, while being pinned to the ground, limiting its options, but Nadim had a point. "Not truly behaviour that warrants further study."

Volund nodded with a chuckled. Neither of them spoke for a moment, before the Rune Priest looked around, as if he was seeing this place for the first time. "I will miss this." He confessed, suddenly sounding a lot more serious.

Nadim's smile faded. "When will you be leaving?" None of Schiavona knew the details of his departure; after Volund had been discharged from his service with the Deathwatch in a small ceremony, there had been little contact between the battle brothers. A reason why Volund had all but insisted on this little gathering.

"The day after tomorrow with one of the Inquisitors. Emperor given it will be a swift journey."

"I take it you look forward to home?"

The Space Wolf smiled and closed his eyes. In his mind he summoned cherished memories. "It will be good to see the Fang again, to feel the icy winds of Fenris and hear the songs of my brothers." He briefly paused, before he turned to Nadim with a hint of a mocking grin. "Though I'm sure it cannot compare to the volcanoes and wastelands of Nocturne."

In response the Salamander rolled his crimson eyes. "Mock me if you will, Volund, but you wouldn't, had you seen it for yourself. There is a certain beauty to the wild, untamed lands. I'd thought a Wolf of all Astartes would appreciate those aspects. Besides, you forget about its people." It was a point Nadim liked to bring up. To him they were more than just citizens; they truly were his people. Volund understood this sentiment, even if the Vlka Fenryka weren't quite as close to the Fenrisians; still, he would fight to his last breath for his brothers, his world and its people.

The Rune Priest turned to the Raven, who tended to be annoyingly silent on these matters. "What of you, Cyrus? Care to weigh in?"

"I fear my homeworld is dreadfully unremarkable compared to yours." He replied with his usual serious demeanour, almost sounding detached, but his two brothers knew him too well as to buy into it. "Merely a civilised world and quite liveable."

"Oh, how ghastly." Nadim mocked him, voice thick with dry sarcasm. It seemed he too was unsatisfied with the Blood Raven's description.

"No wonder the Blood Ravens are so soft." Usually the Rune Priest didn't turn to insulting fellow brothers, but this Blood Raven could be infuriatingly tight-lipped at times; this necessitated some incitement. Cyrus knitted a brow in a manner that in the past had made people from Guardsmen to once even a young Inquisitor as Volund recalled, back off a little, but the Space Wolf merely smirked toothy. He was on the right path.

It hadn't been just a question to get Cyrus more involved in their conversation. As a matter of fact, Volund had never been to a civilised world, unless to wage war or a Deathwatch mission, so he felt somewhat curious about life on a planet that wasn't a Death World like Fenris or Nocturne.

Therefore it rather unfortunate that Cyrus was not one to talk much about himself, or anything for that matter, unless it involved their duties as Astartes in some manner. Often one had to actively make the effort to involve him in a conversation or discussion, something Volund had done repeatedly as they'd become friends, and which others would deem a mistake only made once. Equipped with a sharp mind and tongue, the Blood Raven had proven just as merciless in that area as he was on the battlefield.

"How fortunate that your chapter has other worlds from which they can recruit." The Rune Priest added, finally getting a reply.

"I never realized that in the past centuries I've given the impression of being soft." The scout sergeant calmly mused. "Perhaps we should have sparred more often, as Maccius and I have, rather than spending so much time with our rather academic debates."

Nadim was watching with amusement, when Volund chuckled at his brother's response. "Aye, Fenris' wolves are not fended off by mere words after all."

"Really? I have made different experiences." There was a slight upturn at the corner of Cyrus' mouth.

Some this would have insulted, but instead Volund laughed this time. "Be careful whom you tell this; I don't believe all my brothers would take kindly to your words."

"Few do." The Blood Raven reminded him.

At least he now seemed more willing to talk; Volund doubted the Mjod had much of an effect, given how little there had been. He suddenly regretted not having addressed this topic much earlier, when there had been more. "But back to our original topic; I'm sure there is something you miss about your homeworld."

"Perhaps a few things."

This was turning frustrating and yet felt familiar. "I've gotten more information out of an eldar." Volund noted dryly. "After tonight we might never speak or even hear from each other again. Do an old friend a favour and at least try to be sociable for once."

"You ask much of me." Cyrus too was no stranger to sarcasm. "Very well then; how could I deprive an old man of his parting wish?"

The Salamander frowned at this. "I hope that simply sounded more morbid than what you intended."

"I would not count on it, Nadim." Nonetheless Volund was satisfied with this outcome. "Now Cyrus; even if Cyrene is as uninteresting as you claim, you surely can at least be bothered to describe it."

"Well, as I've said it is a civilized world in the Aurelia sub-sector. Ever since the former capital planet was engulfed by a warp storm and disappeared, it has been the main recruiting world for my chapter." Almost absentmindedly he let a finger run over the now empty mug in front of him. "Most of its people live in far apart cities, which thankfully don't even come close to even the smaller Hives in population, hence the higher living-standards for their citizens. The rich and powerful have taken great lengths to shape them as well, from lavishly ornamented facades to lush gardens and spacious plazas to publicly showcase their wealth. It has almost become a competition, but thankfully one at least local infrastructure has profited from as a side-effect.

Travelling outside, beyond their borders, one is greeted by endless fields and pastures. Thus as Meridian is a Hive World, and Typhon Primaris is covered by jungle, while Calderis' landscape is dominated by vast deserts and veldts, my homeworld functions as a granary for the sub-sector so to speak.

Only in the most climatically unsuitable regions you can still find natural forests or mostly untouched wilderness, sparsely settled. From time to time we would visit those and the polar regions for training regiments. Aside from that the Blood Ravens usually only return to Cyrene, when we search for new recruits."

"Like yourself." Volund knew that his friend was in thought; he could see it in his eyes, hear it in the slowed pace as he spoke. Blood Ravens were known to have excellent memories, so on what did his mind dwell?

Meanwhile Cyrus nodded, eyes still on the mug without actually looking at it. "Yes; centuries ago."

"So the Blood Ravens have no permanent presence on Cyrene?" The Salamander chimed in, apparently managing to briefly tear his brother away from whatever thoughts or memories he was pursuing.

"No. We are a fleet-based chapter, though on a few worlds there are or have been fortresses. Compared to an installation like the Fang or your fortress on Prometheus they can probably only be considered outposts."

"With recruits from so many different worlds, it's no wonder you speak so little of home. You share no culture with any of them."

"With the common people? No; both your chapters are very different in that regard." He shrugged. "For better or worse."

Volund looked at his old friend thoughtfully. "Take no offense my friend, but the Ravens seem lost. The identity of one's Primarch lost to time, no world to call home."

"I assume you have a point?" Surprisingly Cyrus' voice sounded a lot cooler now. Usually it took more to get noticeably under his skin.

"Well, I suppose I now see why you Blood Ravens are always searching for your past." He met Cyrus' glare with a thoughtful and calm expression. "As I've said, I mean not to offend you or your chapter; 'tis merely an observation."

There was a deep, questioning frown. "You think we'd do better, if we were to culturally converge with one of our recruiting worlds?"

Frankly Volund didn't know the chapter nearly well enough, he'd be the first to admit that. But he was a Space Wolf, Fenris was part of his identity, the place he proudly called home; even being the Death World that it was, to him it could have been the lone sanctuary in the grimmest of storms. To be bereft of such a connection. Could a fleet truly compensate?

"Perhaps." He finally said and there was another matter. "Even if you were to rediscover your lost history, the Blood Ravens have become an entity of their own, separate, different from whatever your origins were after thousands of years. It might be best to focus on creating a great legacy, one you can look back at with pride one day, rather than searching for one you might not like." Whatever their past, Volund had the feeling that it should remain lost. With all the rumours, all those secrets kept, how could it be anything else but damming in the end? That was how this galaxy worked.

And nonetheless the Blood Ravens were obsessed with their past; it almost seemed to the Rune Priest as if they upheld their somewhat nomadic subsistence on purpose, as if the truth would somehow show them one day where they belonged. Or perhaps the old Wolf was reading too much into things once again.

"Volund might be right." Nadim eventually said, ending the silence, before a smile returned to his face. "Besides, I'd like to think any chapter would be delighted if the Ravens would seize 'borrowing' their weapons and armours for what I'm sure are purely scholarly purposes."

Volund smirked; it was just like Nadim to try and lighten the mood.

Fortunately their brother was inclined to play along. "I believe the preferred term is 'gifted'." It was impossible to miss the sarcasm in his voice.

"Well, should you one day return to your chapter, not in a redactor vile mind you, would it be possible for you to check if your armoury has anything the Salamanders have 'gifted'?"

The Blood Raven raised a brow. "Do you wish me to scratch the paint of any armour I find to see if they've once been green?"

Nadim chuckled amused. "That would be one approach."

"I fear the Techmarines would not be pleased with my inquiries." Cyrus pointed out.

The Salamander still looking amused, a touch of mockery in his voice. "Because you care so much for the opinions of others about yourself."

There was the hint of a smile. "A fair point."

The Rune Priest regarded his brothers and friends. It was regretful that he could never share the stories of the Deathwatch with anyone; no sklad would ever recite their tales and names. But he would remember each battle, every mission. Them and his brothers. Volund hoped that they too would live to see their homeworlds once again and re-join their chapters one day.

* * *

A little over an hour later Cyrus returned to his chamber, all but a cell, with only the most essential furnishing. Then again it was merely intended to serve as a place for rest, something Astartes needed very little of. Besides, in another hour or so the next day's daily routine of rigorous training and study would begin.

It was a shame Volund would leave them, but all Astartes eventually returned to their chapters, at least all those who survived. Cyrus himself had already served about two centuries himself, having begun his Long Watch only a few years after the Space Wolf. Perhaps it was soon time for him as well to re-join his brothers and resume his duties as a scout sergeant, ideally before he fell in battle. Even if he couldn't share the details of his service with the Inquisition, there was much knowledge to be passed on, though he prayed that some of the alien horrors he'd seen, his brothers would never have to face. But perhaps that was too much to hope for.

Doubtlessly his chapter had changed in all this time, and a fair number of those he had once fought alongside with were now with the Emperor. It would certainly be strange to return after such a long time; all the more reason to consider it.

His thoughts turned to Volund and Nadim's words; it hadn't just been the idea of seeing their brothers again that had delighted them, but their worlds. Cyrus wouldn't claim that he envied such sentiments, but returning to a fleet was not quite the same. Did he look forward to see the worlds of the sector again? The vast deserts and veldts of Calderis? The every green jungles of Typhon with its ancient ruins, their purpose long forgotten in time? Quite appropriate all things considered.

Or perhaps the endless fields and almost splendorous cities of Cyrene? There was a certain tranquillity to the former he appreciated, to the simple, peaceful work that dominated the lives of the common people. Even while wars raged and worlds were put to the torch, on most planets the citizen of the Imperium pursued their duties, working unaware of the horrors beyond the stars. To most people, aliens were but a rumour, the monsters of fairy tales. It was for the best, and he would be satisfied if it was kept that way.

Yes, he would like to see his homeworld again. To see that all those battles fought, all that blood shed and lives spent had not been in vain. His faith was strong, as was his sense of duty, but there was an undeniable difference between merely knowing and seeing the results of one's efforts.

And there were his former duties. After his years of service in different squads he had returned to the 10th company to train the initiates of the chapter as a scout sergeant. He had every intention of continuing this work.

His last visit to Cyrene had been during a recruitment mission. Wherever they had gone, the people had come to see them; parents had brought their sons, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes proudly, to see if they would be chosen. But regardless, there were always tears shed. It was fortunate that they never witnessed the Blood Trials.

And then it became his duty to turn frightened boys into battle-brother. A difficult, occasionally exhausting occupation; but a rewarding one nevertheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard another's footsteps in the hallway ahead of him. Judging by pace and sound they did not belong to a fellow Astartes, strange as this area of the fortress was reserved for their living quarters, especially at this hour of night.

The hallway was only sparsely lit and curved, nonetheless Cyrus noticed that the other person was walking in the same direction, if slower, likely due to shorter strides. Eventually the corridor straightened and having gotten closer, he spotted a woman wearing a leather jacket and olive pants stuffed into heavy boots, while her long brown hair was neatly braided.

Apparently she had noticed his presence as well and now stopped to turn around. Cyrus immediately recognized her as Inquisitor Lysander's Acolyte Charis Nikandros. Her employer was the Inquisitor, who had worked the most closely with Kill-team Schiavona. Additionally Cyrus had worked directly under him as a Kill-Marine. Lysander had sent him on every of his missions, organized transport, established connections and supplied him with any equipment necessary.

"Lord Cyrus; I have been looking for you, sir." The young woman greeted him and bowed, when he'd reached her. "Inquisitor Lysander asked me to give you this personally."

She was holding a data-slate out to Cyrus, who did not miss the light trembling of her hand. It was a common reaction from those who were unaccustomed to deal with Astartes. Nikandors however wasn't new in the Inquisition's service, not by human standards at least, making her behaviour slightly puzzling.

Cyrus frowned, but took the slate. "My thanks, Acolyte."

"Milord." The Acolyte bowed once more before she retreated, only turning around after having taken a few steps backwards. Her expression was strange; had something happened to the retinue? It would explain her bearing.

Or had it something to do with the data-slate? But why would something concerning him trouble her?

Well, he would find out soon enough. As she walked back the way they had come, Cyrus continued to his room. It wasn't far anymore, only a few more doors down the corridor.

It truly was but a cell, the walls plain metal with two niches for small items and racks for the personal weapons and the armour an Astartes brought along with him. Briefly Cyrus looked at the few items he possessed, among them a small souvenir from his time as a Kill-Marine, when he had lived among common people, a gift from the Rogue Trader he had travelled with, as well as his personal copy of the _Codex Astartes_. Fortunately, their Ultramarine Apothecary Seneca had never seen it, as Cyrus had begun to make marginal notes and what he believed to be corrections. In all fairness, Primarch Guilliman had never even seen tyranids, though this was but one example.

The light was no brighter than that of a candle, though did not flicker, still with the lack of a window it left him in dim twilight. It was plenty for him, his vision was unimpaired, but it served to make the room look even smaller than it actually was.

Cyrus sat down on the hard bed, just large enough for a Space Marine and turned on the data-slate. It was rare for Inquisitors to reach out to a single Astartes. Another assignment as a Kill-Marine perhaps? No, it couldn't be. Their Kill-Team was soon to depart for a new mission.

The screen came to life with a faint orange glow, a line of text asking him to verify his identity via fingerprint. The machine spirit accepted and the screen turned green, a message appearing. As to be expected, it came from Inquisitor Lysander.

-'Lord Cyrus, this information has been part of a correspondence between me and a colleague of mine. I believe it is of great interest to you.'

Once more Cyrus frowned and swiped over the surface to get to the following text, an excerpt.

 _…Unfortunately I will not be able to join you in this operation as my own duties keep me occupied. I do not know if the news has reached you, but the Blood Ravens discovered the taint of Chaos on one of their most important recruiting-worlds. Captain Gabriel Angelos of the 3rd company contacted us and with the Fleet given to me, I performed the Exterminatus on the world Cyrene and…_

Cyrus stopped dead. There was more, but his eyes lingered widened on the last words he'd read. It could not be. He felt the data-slate almost slipping from his fingers. It was impossible. It was as if those words were burned into his mind, along with one question: how?

He set the data-slate aside onto the bed and rose to his feet.

How could this have happened? Cyrene; the main recruiting world of his chapter. How could it have been tainted and to such degree that it had been deemed beyond saving? One would think that the Blood Ravens kept better watch over their worlds.

In a sudden moment of rage, his fist rammed the walled, the impact sounding loud in the small room, his knuckles leaving dents in the metal. He could feel the pain spread from his fist along his arm, but it felt almost rewarding.

A single drop of blood hit the floor.

Cyrene, his homeworld had been reduced to ash.

A second followed, splashing into several smaller drops upon impact.

He should have been there. Somehow this could have been prevented. Could he have done anything? Maybe, maybe not, but he would never know for he had been here, far removed and out of reach. And now he would never return there.

His treacherous mind conjured up vision. Once pristine cities now blackened ruins and crushed to rubble. Once vast fields of green and gold now ablaze with fire, while winds no longer carried the scent of grain, but were heavy with ash, all beneath darkened skies.

It didn't seem real. He had seen worlds that had been devastated by the Exterminatus, knew of the grim necessity. One world burned, so thousands could be saved, but this. Not Cyrene. How could they have failed their world and allowed this?

Volund's word rang in his ears and his own

 _… the Ravens seem lost. The identity of one's Primarch lost to time, no world to call home._

 _You think we'd do better if we were to culturally converge with one of our recruiting worlds?_

Would this have happened if the Blood Ravens had been a permanent presence on Cyrene? Could they have discovered the seed of corruption before it had taken hold and prevented this?

Cyrus looked back on the data slate, still glowing green, almost overpowering the interior lighting.

When he had spoken of Cyrene today, he'd unknowingly spoken of an already dead world. A strange, uncomfortable thought to be sure. He'd called it homeworld, but did it, no, had it truly applied? This notion now came unbidden, an unwelcome presence, yet it merited consideration.

Had he not left Cyrene centuries ago? Recruited merely about a decade old? He had known that world more as a visitor than a native. While Blood Ravens had so called 'perfect' memories, this only applied to events and information after the implantation of certain gene seed organs, hormonal treatment and psychological conditioning. Everything before that vanished with time; each year a little more was gone.

Could he even recall anything from his time before the chapter? Cyrus closed his eyes, searching his memory. Recollections were never truly clear, they weren't recordings, but what he was looking for was unfamiliarly vague. He wasn't used to memories being so clouded and incomplete, slipping as he tried to focus, as if he was grasping at fog. Nevertheless there was something.

 _He remembered heat and the crackling of flames. Yes, there had been a fire. A lifetime ago. The heat had been dizzying and smoke had filled every room, obscured his vision. Pain with every breath. But he hadn't been alone, no, someone had been there with him. Cyrus could no longer picture that person, not even a face, but something about the voice. Female, urging. Frightened? Then something had collapsed; a wall, the ceiling, he couldn't say anymore._

 _He remembered being pushed and distant screaming, before hitting ground. No, water. Cold, numbing._

Cyrus' eyes opened. He had almost forgotten that night centuries ago. All things considered it was likely the earliest recollection he had. He sighed.

Was this all that would remain of his homeworld? Dim memories, hardly remembered?

Frustration dug its claws deeper into him, his hands clenching into fists once more. He hadn't known he still cared this much for Cyrene, but he did, this news had revealed as much to him. Perhaps it was due to the nature of the events, rather than the loss itself, but he could not say. Cyrus felt his fingernails digging into his palms, the muscles along his arms tensing. No, he shouldn't dwell on this.

Cyrene and its people were gone. There was nothing to be done to change that fate. What good did it do to lament the events? Worlds burned and populations perished, such was the way of things, the way of the endless wars of their age. He should focus on the future, how to prevent such a tragedy from reoccurring.

It was the logical conclusion, but part of his mind refused to comply, harbouring the anger and sorrow the message had evoked. Astartes were supposed to be weapons of the Emperor's Will, but they had all been ordinary humans once. Like memories, humanity was not something that vanished instantly, but instead faded. Chapters like the Salamanders preserved it, however in the end no one could remain unaffected by what they witnessed in centuries of bloody duty. How could one not grew more cold and distant? How could the taking of life and the acceptance of the horrors of war not become easier, if you did and dealt with those things every day for centuries? If it was essentially all you knew?

And yet this was the first in a long time that managed to suddenly make him suddenly feel more human. Or at least like a much less experiences Astartes. This was not him letting his guard down among those he considered friends like Volund and Nadim, this was something that had actually managed to tear everything down by itself.

Had his fellow Blood Ravens reacted similarly, when they have received the news? Or his brothers of the third company, who certainly had witnessed the Exterminatus.

Cyrus was by far not the only Marine native to Cyrene. Captain Angelos, as well as many of his fellow brothers, had been recruited from that world, making its loss even graver for the chapter. With Aurelia long gone, the people of Meridian deemed unsuitable, only Calderis and Typhon remained in the sub-sector for supplying future initiates. Thankfully they were a feudal and a feral world respectively, making it highly unlikely that the heresy had spread to their populations.

Cyrus picked up the data-slate again and turned it off. He didn't want to see those words anymore. The room darkened immediately, however his gaze remained on the screen. Pain still lingered in his hand.

Perhaps there was an upside to detachment. If he reacted this strongly, how much greater would the blow have been had he identified with Cyrene as strongly as Volund and Nadim did with their worlds?

No, he couldn't allow this to affect him. He should focus on his duties, nothing more; he was one of the Emperor's Astartes. He should be pragmatic, not emotional, he was supposed to be cold and calculating. He had seen thousands die before, if not millions and he would see more perish before his end. Ultimately, Cyrene was simply another unfortunate world. Homeworld; that term was a mere sentiment, he thought bitterly.

There was something hollow about those thoughts, as if he couldn't even fullly convince himself.

Still, his own recruitment had been so long ago. Had he not just learned that his memories were all but gone? That there had been a time, when Astartes had not been brothers to him was difficult, if not impossible to imagine. Far clearer were his memories of the occasions they had visited farmsteads and cities to search for recruits. When he had been a stranger and visitor.

Had he too stood there nervous and anxious, uncertain about what was to happen? Or after the Blood Trials? Wounded, exhausted, probably having killed for the first time in his life and not an enemy of man, but another boy about his own age.

Cyrus sighed and closed his eyes anew, one more time searching his memories.

 _Bodies. He couldn't recall his surroundings, but there had been bodies and blood. The survivors, all boys just over a decade old formed a line, every single one wounded, bleeding themselves. Around them a handful Astartes in full armour, two brothers examining the remaining candidates, one of them a Chaplain._

 _He had been somewhere in that line, waiting, watching and yet avoiding eye contact. No, not avoiding. His gaze had been blurry. Exhaustion? Blood loss?_

 _And then like a giant, the white armoured Apothecary towered over him, the green lenses of the helmet regarding him. "What is your name, boy?" He asked, his voice deep and distorted, while he examined a bleeding wound on his arm._

 _He'd looked to the Chaplain, the skull-mask contrasting the black armour, the red lenses glaring and then back to the Apothecary, who was now kneeling to continue his examination. "Cyrus."_

He had survived. The Blood Trials, the implantations, the conditioning and the training, the centuries of service that had followed, as both a Blood Raven and as a brother of the Deathwatch. Somehow he had outlived his world.

Cyrus looked at his hand, the wound already closed, the blood dried along his knuckles. The pain was dull now, but not gone.

He had to return. Cyrene was lost and the chapter was doubtlessly under scrutiny of the Inquisition for allowing a world under their watch to become so corrupted. He had to help them rebuild, see to his duty as a scout sergeant and guide the new recruits of the chapter. If he was honest not just for his chapter, but for his own peace of mind.

Still, for the time he had other tasks to complete. Kill-team Schiavona had a new mission and he would see it through. Neither would he break his vows nor would he abandon his brothers here. One more world. Victoria Primus.

* * *

Author's Note:

I had the idea for this story for a very long time, but never quite knew what to write. What I saw in the games was that Cyrus is often actually very affected by deaths; we see his contempt for Boreal after Kaurava, and the losses suffered there, especially those of his scouts, are in _Chaos Rising_ the main motivation for his betrayl should you corrupt him. Speaking of scouts, we all remember how he went ballistic, when they were kidnapped by a Sorcerer. I think even Avitus stepped back and told him to chill in that moment. And when Angelos got apparently killed in _Retribution_ by demon-Kyras, he's the one to cry out and show the most emotion.

While never mentioned in the games, I feel that Cyrene having been his homeworld makes sense in this context, as it was a tragic event he was unable to do anything about. This in turn would amplify the effect of other tragedies, as he keeps losing those he cares about, while being similarly incapable of preventing them.

Other news: My main story "Pathfinder" is on its way, after my move, followed up by a horrible writer's block and will be continued this fall. We'll see what idea will turn out to be the next side-story (these are stories I finish before even publishing the first chapter, like I did with Fox & Raven). So far it looks like either "Among Men", Cyrus' first mission as a Kill-Marine, or "Entangled Paths" a sort of sequel to "Fox & Raven".

Until next time.


End file.
